


Gift of Cloth, Heart of Gold

by Yngvildr the Voracious (Yngvildr_the_Voracious)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dragon!Hanzo, F/M, Fluff, M/M, My cinnamon rolls, Shapeshifting, dad reyes, hanzo not used to all this kindness, jesse being the sweetest, merrill levels of dalish awkwardness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8308915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yngvildr_the_Voracious/pseuds/Yngvildr%20the%20Voracious
Summary: Encounters in the Planasene Forest.





	1. Chapter 1

Hanzo took a deep breath, his eyes following his prey.  

 

He went only after the meagre game the shemlen left at night. Any knife ear caught hunting on their lands, would be strung up for sure.  

 

However, Hanzo was not a city rat. He held himself proudly, his spine straight, his shoulders squared, the blue branches of Mythal's wisdom carefully painted on his face with the vallaslin.

 

His end would be far worse. He was an heretic after all, in more ways than one. 

 

When Hanzo had enough nugs, fennecs and night birds, he carefully made his way deeper into the forest, stopping at the edge of the deepest part of it, where malevolent spirits pressed against the Veil, threatening to spill from the Beyond and into the Waking World.  

 

He carefully started a small fire using his flint and his small and precious human made tinder he had haggled, still having to pay a steeper price than the previous customer, a human teenager who was already towering over the elf.  

 

Sometimes, Hanzo missed the clan, the big roaring fire around which they would eat and recount the few stories they had left. He would also miss the hill where he had kissed a girl for the first time, deep within the Arbor Wilds, how his mother, their Hahren sung songs of Elvhenan and his father, the Keeper, deciphering old flaking manuscripts written in the lost tongue.  

 

He closed his eyes and imagined that the wind in the leaves was accompanied by the creaking of the wood of the aravels and the flapping of their blue and green sails.  

 

He started to work on gutting the animals he had skewered with his arrows. He started with the nugs, for they stank the worst and their pelts required little work. He let himself be carried by the tedious work of skinning, gutting, cutting and stowing away in his large bag. In front of the small fire, he let the skins start to dry to the sound of the stars, the moon  

 

He was taking care of the last nug when he heard the forest's melody stop. Disturbed, the animals in the vicinity fled, night birds and bugs fell silent. The yapping of dogs could be heard. Hanzo let out a deep, dejected sigh.  

 

* 

** 

* 

 

Jesse's lungs were burning.  

 

He shouldn't have indulged into those Rivaini cigars Reyes brought from back home.  

Branches were whipping his face and he had lost his damn hat trying to outrun the angry Sylvans.  

 

He had just wanted to take a shortcut from Cumberland to the Vinmark Mountains. A wanted man couldn't afford to get caught on the Imperial Highway after all.  

 

If only Reyes let him go through the Joining, already instead of making him his errand boy, he wouldn't have been caught, he wouldn't have had to shake pursuers, he wouldn't have had the terrible idea to cut through the Planasene Forest which had a notoriously splotchy Veil, or something magicky like that, which, in short, meant demons.  

 

Jesse had heard of demons possessing stuff from nugs to wyverns, but he had never seen a tree possessed before until that day he tried to cross that damn forest.  

 

What wouldn't he trade to be back with the Deadlocks in good old Llomeryn?  

 

Well... Jesse thought, trying to forget his burning lungs and the feeling of his legs trying to fall off or the roots trying to trip him, nothing at all, if it meant losing his true family.  

 

Jesse had been a good to nothing lowlife. Bastard son of a whore and someone who was one day an Altus from Tevinter, the other a Marcher noble or a Fereldan warrior (Jesse had hightailed the day she had told to whoever would listen that he had been fathered by a hung Qunari, tired of all the lies and maybe the whorehouse too).  

 

That little band of thieves had found him, taught him to wield his dagger, the only thing of value his Mama owned and passed onto him the last day he visited there when he heard the Seer whore was Fade sick.  

 

Fade sickness. Rivaini euphemism for done fucked up and reached for the wrong demon. The only case in which a Templar actually had permission to strike down a female mage in Rivain, but still. A pathetic ending for a pathetic excuse for a human being. 

 

Suddenly turning left, hoping to make the humans and the hunting mabaris meet the Sylvans and possibly escape, Jesse was startled to find himself in a clearing.  

 

One that had been inhabited less than a few seconds ago, judging by the angry red colour of the embers, hastily covered by a small pack of dirt moved with a large movement that looked too large to be a child's while the footprint looked too long to be a woman's.  

 

Just his chance. An elf.  

 

Wait, maybe the hounds were after that elf and not Jesse's bounty! 

 

Jesse groaned and took a second to revive the embers from beneath the hastily thrown dirt. Fire was good for a lot of things and he was being chased by possessed trees, for Maker's sake! 

They were extremely fresh, so they quickly produced the small flame Jesse had been looking for. With the added light, he could see the elf had fled in the middle of food preparation. He couldn't be far, even if he had left the smelly carcasses and the untanned hides behind. And even then, the fella would have to stop for food one day.  

 

Jesse shook his head and took a branch, lighting trees on fire and hoping it wouldn't come to bite him in the ass, either in the form of self immolation, a dead elf or Gabriel Reyes asking him to explain how in the Maker's name he had set the whole Planasene forest on fire.  

*

**

*

The shemlen wasn't looking specifically for him, Hanzo realised that quickly when he barrelled out of the treeline and into the clearing, alone and out of breath. For a moment, Hanzo wondered if he should simply get rid of him, loose an arrow that was sure to land between his two eyes into his skull and hightail out of it... 

 

Except that his presence made Hanzo doubt that the hunting mabari were after him. A theory further supported by the actions of the human. He had lit up the trees behind him.  

 

Hanzo decided to follow the shemlen.  

 

His bow slung around his back, he hoped he would have time to draw it back in case of danger, because using his magic, especially in front of a shemlen, was absolutely out of the question. Dalish mages were executed on the spot rather than taken to their Circles of Magi. 

 

They couldn't let their prisoners know of magics they didn't approve of, right, Hanzo scowled as he remembered the last time he had shifted.  

 

About ten years ago. 

 

He took a deep breath and silently followed the shemlen.  

 

He seemed to be running in circles and for a moment, Hanzo wondered if he wasn't lost. 

 

However, there was a tension to his neck as he ran seemingly as fast as he could, only stopping a few seconds to drink from a flask he fished beneath his long red cape-like garment. 

 

If Hanzo hadn't been an elf, already gifted with a better night vision, he would have had no problem following the garish figure of the human in the dark forest.  

 

The barking was getting louder and so did another sound, one Hanzo didn't like one bit. It was the creaking of wood, alright, but not a soothing one. It was that of a Sylvan, he was certain of it. If they met one, he would be forced to use his magic to burn it. No arrow would ever rid the two men of that kind of pursuer. 

Hanzo suddenly realised what was the man's plan: set the Sylvans on the humans they could now hear shouting and encouraging their beasts in the distance.  

 

Hanzo didn't dare climb a tree, lest it was possessed too and he was crushed by the wooden abominations. 

"Here he is!" 

From the trees, a mabari caught the lone human with the red cape unaware and threw him on the ground. Hanzo heard an ominous crack, but no yelling, which meant the huge warhound and the man had crushed a tree branch in their fall.  

 

Or maybe it was the huge tree, glowing green and red, creaking and even grating, (a sound provoked by the hole in the Veil abominations made, he heard his father say), breaking trees in two as if they were matches.  

 

They were so close, Hanzo could see them. In a minute, the humans would too.  

 

He was hidden between roots of ancients trees, but he knew he couldn't hide from any kind of spirits. He was a mage, might as well call him demon bait.  

"Wait!" One human said.  

They were fat and their big faces betrayed their stupidity. Goons, checking the body of the fallen shemlen man. The dogs whined and ran back from whence they came, without their masters, smelling the burning crisp of the walking holes in the Veil that were possessed beings.  

"That ain't an elf!" He continued with a heavy Marcher accent (maybe Markham?) watching his hound's catch, not even worrying about why his mabari had even fled. 

"And that ain't a tree!" Another stuttered, the only one seemingly aware of the danger and who was reeking of hot piss.  

Hanzo sighed. There was no other choice.  

 

* 

** 

* 

 

When Jesse woke up, he was lying on a thin mat made of plaited reeds and branches. When he rose to sit up, his head swam and he touched his forehead. His fingers touched a wet cloth wrapped around his forehead that reeked of elfroot poultice and... something else. A familiar smell of burnt air he associated with his mother's magic tricks and Ana's strong presence. 

"You'd better not undo all my work,  _ shemlen _ ." He heard.  

Jesse looked all around him, trying to pinpoint where the sound had come from, but he was completely disoriented. Slowing, down, he closed his eyes and tried to bring up the last images his eyes saw before he had wanted to puke his guts. It felt like  _ Maaras-Lok _ all over again.  

 

Trees. Normal ones. Not as much as before. They weren't in the heart of the forest anymore. The lighting was slightly on the yellow side, so by a strike a of luck, the voice, his saviour, most probably brought him away from the Sylvans and the barking Mabaris and closer to his goal, the Vinmark Mountains Grey Warden Outpost.  

 

_ Shemlen _ ... When had he heard this word already? It sounded like  _ shem _ , that's how Ana sometimes called Jesse when he was being particularly stupid. Or when he unwittingly let the naturally ingrained prejudice cloud his judgment.  

"Don't worry." Jesse decided to say, keeping his eyes closed. "I think I'm just going to lay back down, if that's alright with you." He decided to say, leaning on his elbows first and then carefully lying back down on his makeshift bedding.  

He heard the steps, very heavy and obvious, as if the one to whom those feet belonged wanted to make sure he was heard. He felt icy hands touch his head and he winced when pain lanced through his temple.  

"Open your eyes." He was commanded with the voice.  

Now, he could detect the sing song accent. Dalish.  _ He was Dalish. _

 

Jesse obeyed. He was Dalish, that was for sure, he had the markings. There were too few Dalish in the Wardens. There were so few of them already, they never willingly gave up their clans unless beholden to their word to lend aid to the ancient order in the event of a Blight. Or if one of their members, when fighting against Darkspawn, sought them out to go through the Joining.  

 

Few survived.  

 

Maybe that was why Gabriel was so reluctant to have Jesse go through his own.  

 

Still, of the three Dalish elves Jesse had met in his entire life, Jesse found that this one was the most beautiful. In fact, he was pretty certain, this man was the most handsome to have ever walked this earth, Maker bless his steps. Or whatever deity the Dalish prayed too.  

 

Hey, they had been saved by Andraste, maybe they had their own version of Andrastianism unsanctioned by the White Divine? 

 

His hands were magical too, because when the elf caressed his hair, he felt the cool feeling of a healing spell crack on his head like an egg and trickle into his head.  

Keeping his eyes open as he ordered, Jesse couldn't help but notice how the elf had closed his own eyelids, biting his lips in what looked like concentration.  

 

When he opened them back, he wobbled for a second and Jesse realised that he didn't feel anymore like he was swimming in goo. 

 

He was not as good as Ana, and certainly not on the same level as First-Enchanter Angela. He also seemed out of breath, as if he had just ran along the Imperial Highway from Redcliffe all the way to Minrathous.  

"Mighty thanks, fella." Jesse risked himself, unwilling to spook an Apostate (a Dalish one, a death sentence in this world ruled by humans). "I'm mighty glad a handsome stranger decided to be kind to a lowlife like me." 

Only too late, Jesse realised he was still groggy enough to let out he found the man handsome. He tried to pass off his wince as a manifestation of the pain of sitting up.  

The elf was properly stunned. Probably because Jesse had been too forward, the human thought.  

"I'm sorry for the mana you wasted on me. I'd have repaid you with some lyrium, but I don't carry any when I'm not traveling with mages..." 

Or Templars. But what the elf didn't know... 

"And since I seem to have misplaced my coin and my food, I have no way to repay you for your kindness." Jesse continued.  

"There is no no need." The man said, rising to stand on his two legs.

The heaviness of his step wasn't faked anymore. Jesse wondered if he was one of those mages who had the connexion but too few power to defend themselves. Jack had told him of what happened to those people in the Circles of Southern Thedas. Gabriel had laughed when Jesse had asked what happened to Tevinter citizens who were in the same predicament.  

However, he seemed quite right. Jesse simply stored the information for later and sat back up, feeling much better.  

"Where are we?" 

"About a few miles West of the Vinmark Mountains on the Marcher side." 

"May I ask where you were headed?" 

"No." the elf answered, terse and short. 

"Fair enough. Well, the name’s McCree. Thank you for putting me on the right path. I was going to that side of the Vinmark. I have some Grey Wardens friends there." 

Jesse didn't mention the bounty on his head.  

"Grey Wardens." The man repeated, his voice hollow, as if he was thinking about it.  

"Yes... I work for them." Jesse added, not wanting to lie to him saying he was the real deal when he'd been a recruit for fifteen years.  

Abruptly, the man started to gather his belongings. A butchering knife there, a bow and a full quiver or carefully crafted arrows there, the mortar and the pestle, still dirty from the poultice he brewed for him. 

 

Jesse wanted to ask him to come with him, but couldn't bring himself to do so. How could a Dalish elf trust him? Even if he worked for the Grey Wardens, it didn't make him one and they could still be gigantic assholes. You just had to see Torbjörn, formerly of the Smiths' Caste, and how he barely spoke to the branded dwarves he encountered. Prejudices were hard to shake, even if you bled together.  

 

"It is noble work." Jesse heard the man say, his voice soft and low, like a caress. "I would hate to delay you, Serrah McCree. You had a grave head injury sustained when the Mabari fell on you and your hit your head on a rock. I made sure you would be able to continue, but the wound is still open. Here. Take these. The dirt and then the sand will have you change the bandages more often than not." 

 

The man shoved a bowl of elfroot paste and several strips of cloth Jesse only realised now were taken from the man's own tunic, whose left arm was bare.  

 

Jesse smiled.  

"I know what I can do for you, now, fella." He exclaimed, untying the  _ sarape  _ from his shoulders.  

Carefully, he took the paste and the cloth, setting them on the ground before he took a step closer to the elf. With one large movement that made the mage freeze, Jesse draped the heavy coloured wool over his healer's shoulders. 

"There. That way, you won't be freezing at night because you made bandages for stupid old me." Jesse said, tying the cloth around the man's slender neck.  

Up close, Jesse found him even prettier. The elf was smaller of course and Jesse could now guess the point of his ears from behind the long strands of black hair. His eyes, his huge elven eyes were a deep brown, a rare colour for his race. His lips were thin and Jesse found himself watching them for a bit too long. Until he saw the ghost, a white flash of a teeth worrying them. 

Jesse forced himself to take a step away from the pretty elf, lest he really spooked him and ended up fried.  

 

Seriously, one never knew with mages.  

 

"I guess... Well, I should get to my... Friends." Jesse stuttered, trying to control the blush rushing to his cheeks. He had never been so happy to have let that beard grow. However, elves and their mystical ways didn't have this chance and the Dalish only had the branches of his blood-whatever to hide his embarrassment. Honestly, it could have been anger too, for all Jesse knew.  

 

"Yes." The elf said, toying with the hasty knot Jesse had made with the  _ sarape _ . He turned his back, abruptly and walk toward what looked like North-West, according to the rising sun. It was not midday yet, Jesse knew his path from here.  

 

East.  

 

He sighed and wondered if he'd ever see the Dalish elf again. 

 

* 

** 

* 

 

Stupid, stupid, stupid! 

 

The shemlen was in Hanzo's mind. He wouldn't leave it.  

First, because he had called him handsome and it had indeed been a while since anyone or anything really had said such things to him.  

 

Then, there had been the kindness. The only kindness he had received from a human had been when one day, he had dared enter a village and had not been thrown back out when entering the tavern to try to dry himself from the pouring Fereldan rain that turned everything into mud and seemed to worsen the smell of wet dog. At least, not before the storm had passed and the rooster had sung the arrival of dawn.  

 

McCree's kindness had been one he hadn't known since his self-imposed exile, a decade ago. One only given between equals. All because Hanzo had decided to save his life.  

 

Logic dictated that he shouldn't have bothered. He definitely shouldn't have transformed into his  _ hanryuu  _ form. What if one of the humans survived, told the tale and launched a dragonling hunt? What if one spotted him changing and called for a  _ maleficar hunt _ ? 

 

What if the man he had saved had turned against him, even hurt in the head as he was, to the point that he lost function and most of his mind for a good part of the night.  

 

But he had not attacked. Even before he had regained most of his mind, all the words that had come out of the _shemlen_ ’s mouth had been kindness, intersped with more worrying remarks about how pretty he was. He knew some humans developed a strange fetish, he had learned in ten years of wandering, what could happen to young elfwomen who came of age on the day of their nuptials. He had seen whores of every gender and every race, catering to all sexualities and fetishes, and yet, he had been shocked by the number of elves among them.   

He wondered if he would have to defend himself. He almost did when the man approached, his cloak presented with both hands, a gift.  

 

_ Like one would offer a gift to a prospective bondmate. _

 

Hanzo shook the idea out of his head, trying to focus on his steps. He had to get out of the forest.  

 

If he had wanted to be out of it faster, he should have followed the strange man. The Vinmark Mountains were closer. Now, he was circling back toward Nevarra, mentally following the straightest towards the Minanter River, not caring if he was going to have to climb the beginning of the high peaks that formed the Vinmark to the East. He wanted to put distance between him and the shemlen.  

 

This night, Hanzo thought he would have little trouble to sleep. He had after all watched over the human all night. However, the elf could not. Wrapped up in the garish cape, he thought.  

_ Grey Warden _ . He worked for the Grey Wardens.  

 

Grey Wardens accepted elves within their ranks, it was well known. Garahel and the Hero of Ferelden were prime examples of that.  

 

Hanzo tried to sleep, no matter what he decided, it would be better if he was rested to put a plan in action.  

 

As Keeper Isamu used to say, with night comes counsel. Upon opening his eyes in the hour where the sky is green with the soon to be rising sun, Hanzo's mana has come back naturally from sleep in time.  

 

He decided to use it one more time, holding the red cape tight between his claws.  

 

* 

** 

* 

 

Gabriel Reyes knew Jesse like the fucking map of the back of his hand. Regular Llomeryn street kid and son of a whore, Reyes had been pretty much the same, but mostly in Antiva once he'd been sold to the Crows by his parents. 

However, seeing Jesse come back empty handed from an intelligence mission in Cumberland followed by a strange tame dragonling was so unexpected that he simply let gravity do its work on his jaw until little Fareeha came by and patted him on the back with the solemn expression kids had when they were the only person making sense in a room.  

 

"Jesse, care to explain this?" Jack asked, gruff and looking at the dragonling with barely concealed hostility.  

"Well... I ain't sure it's a proper dragonling, because of the thing with the  _ sarape _ ..." McCree started.

"I can't believe I'm seeing a dragonling dressed in a traditional Rivaini garment." Ana burst out, dumbfounded, her Antivan accent rolling off her tongue like so many waves. "Am I in the Fade? I don't remember going to sleep!" 

"It's a friend, that's for sure! Took good care of me. I'd appreciate it if you didn't spook him." Jesse added, his business face on.  

Gabriel sighed. 

"Alright, put your beast in the old Griffin coop."  

"Sure thing, boss." 

And with that, Jesse walked toward the tower made for the now extinct Griffins, the dragonling falling in stride with the Rivaini man, as if it had simply heard the order  

"And get your Marker-forsaken  _ sarape  _ back! It looks ridiculous on him!" Gabriel yelled.  

 

"I don't fancy getting my fingers bitten off or catching fireballs with my face, thank you, Gabi!" Jesse hollered back before man and beast disappeared in the tower.  

 

"Stop sighing, Uncle Gabi." Fareeha said, her little girl's voice grave. "Jesse is always like that." 

 

"And It's going to put me in an early grave." 

 

"We're wardens. There's nothing for us but an early grave." Jack let out, always prone to such dramatics, Gabi had learned. 

Ana simply punched his elbow.  

"Not in front of my daughter, you..." 

 

"Mama. No swearing." 

  
"You're right, you're a good girl. Better than your Mama was." 


	2. Chapter 2

When the woman arrived, Hanzo couldn't help but be reminded of Genji. 

 

It was really strange. She had the accent typical of Nevarra, but she smelled like him. His brother. 

 

As if... As if they had spent time together somehow. 

 

She was an Enchanter from the Cumberland Circle of Magi. She looked strong in her magic and she faintly smelled of the Fade, that burnt air one could smell just after lightning struck, either from the hands of a mage or a natural occurrence. 

 

_ Possessed _ . This woman was possessed. 

 

However, she walked around unharmed. Even the surly Templar with straw hair (Hanzo had been steering clear of him) didn't touch her, though his gaze lingered whenever she cast any spell. He watched her more than the Antivan elf and her child. 

 

Life with the Wardens was strange. They had a lot of visitors and they watched over a hole from which ominous noises sometimes came along with those who uttered them. 

 

Hanzo had never seen so many types of Darkspawn. Shrieks and Hurlocks, yes, but Genlocks and Ogres were so much rarer on the surface...

 

And those people met them head on and without fear whenever they came up. 

 

The fiercest was Jack. Every day, he started his day at dawn, prayed at the small shrine he had set up with a small statue of Andraste and some incense. He then sipped a draught of lyrium and meditated for an hour. 

 

In battle, his eyes glowed blue when he met one of the Emissaries, Darkspawn gifted with a connexion to the Fade. 

 

They made Hanzo's scales crawl. The way they were cut from the Fade by the former Templar, too. 

 

The Dalish also enjoyed seeing the grace and poise of Ana Amari's casting. She didn't cast like a Dalish, it was clear she had been raised in the cities, and yet she had managed to avoid imprisonment in the circles. 

 

It made for a strange style, a unique one Hanzo appreciated as a professional in the art. 

 

The scariest was Reyes. 

 

It was hard to pinpoint what Reyes was. He fought like an assassin. Always stealthily tiptoeing around, jumping in and out of the fight, his twin serrated daggers dripping with poison and sinking deep. 

 

He had no discernible accent, but his skin tone suggested the North. From Tevinter to Par Vollen, there was a lot to the North, though. 

 

He sometimes spoke in Antivan with Ana, sometimes in Rivaini with Jesse and Hanzo had spied him reading Tevene ancient scrolls when no one was looking.

 

At the very least, he was a well traveled man. At most, he was secretly the leader of the Antivan Crows. Hanzo hadn't decided yet. 

 

Then, there were the other Wardens. Most of them were forgettable faces to whom Jesse talked to amicably. 

 

And then there were their friends. Non-Grey Wardens

 

Like this woman from Cumberland, the one who smelled like Genji. Or Amari's young daughter, a wisp of a woman already, by Dalish standards. Hanzo couldn't help but notice how round little Fareeha’s ears were. 

 

A halfling, then, he thought, trying not to pass a judgement. After all, it was hardly Fareeha's fault. It might not even be his mother's. 

 

She was a sweet girl and she often followed Jesse around. He showed her how to wield daggers  like a street rat while Ser Reinhardt, one big Orlesian Chevalier showed her how to wield a shield and sword like he had at the Académie. 

 

When the two humans didn't have the time, she would be running around doing light chores such as cleaning the mess hall's tables for the cook or bring Hanzo's food. 

 

Hanzo was satisfied of his observations. He hadn't expected the Templar though. Despite Ser Jack's position among the Wardens, Hanzo wouldn't put it past him to make his life difficult. 

 

Ser Jack and this woman who came smelling like Genji made him wary of revealing himself fully. 

 

McCree knew, that was for sure. Hanzo had been holding his cloak, his  _ sarape _ , and he had called him  _ handsome  _ again when he had caught up with him, just before he reached the outpost. 

 

He had protected his secret, respected his decision...

 

Every time they were together, McCree was always in range to extend his hand, a silent question. Hanzo almost always granted him permission to scratch that awful spot he could only describe as being  _ behind his ears _ and that was even worse than the one beneath his shoulder blades in his usual form. 

 

Fareeha thought it disgusting and embarrassing. Hanzo concurred, he would like all of this better if it happened while in his human form. 

 

He sighed. 

 

He wanted this human. He wanted to lean into his kindness and give back every smile, every caress he gave. His McCree.

 

It of course made him quite conflicted and this little emotion, conflicting with his Dalish upbringing, was added to the list of arguments against revealing himself. 

 

As he watched the woman who smelled of Genji look over every warden and heal them with a power he had never witnessed before, he thought of the limitations of this animal form. 

 

Not just the lack of opposable thumbs. Shapeshifting was a rare gift, but those who had it warned of the animal within, which could overcome the soul. 

 

Hanzo had a lot of time until such thing forced him back into his own form. First because he wasn't in the wild, running around and acting like a dragonling. The spirit of the Mabari would take his soul first, he snorted, thinking of how he followed McCree around and let himself get petted, placidly, to maintain his cover as a somehow tame animal.

 

McCree would love this awful joke. He had the absolute worst sense of humor, if Hanzo could roll his eyes in this form, they would probably have fallen from his skull. 

 

Being around other people helped curb the violent urge to find a high dragon's fire and curl around it. And that, even when he unleashed carefully directed animality in the fights. 

 

The Warden outpost seemed designed to watch over a particular entrance to the Deep Roads nearby. With the last Blight finished, stragglers would exit there more often than not. Hanzo helped dispatch them, his snout carefully closed. He had heard of the Taint the Darkspawn carried and didn’t want to become a ghoul. 

 

All of this allowed Hanzo to stay in his  _ hanryuu _ form for a while.  

 

Just the time to figure out who this First Enchanter was and why she smelled of Genji. 

 

*

**

*

 

Jesse loved it when Angela was around. 

 

First Enchanter Angela was not just a healer. She always brought that energy, a new wind in all of their lungs. Jesse was pretty sure that without the four trips she took from Cumberland's circle to their lost corner of arid scrublands, the Warden outpost would exist no more, overrun by heath, cacti, sage and tumbleweeds. 

 

Well, Jesse did stumble on a quite stubborn little lavender when he and Gabe went to hide their Rivaini cigars in the bushes (Angela had the bad habit to steal and systematically burn down those, not in the good way...)

 

The deep violet looked almost blue and made him thought of his elf...

 

His dragon. Whatever. He had kept a stem safe in a book he had found lying around. Jesse didn’t read much, hadn’t paid enough attention to his letters in the Chantry, but books were useful to hide things into and only Jack ever read the Chant of Light in this place.

 

Jesse was certain now that the dragon and the elf were the same person. It was obvious in the way it had clung to him, had let the man open the  _ sarape _ , folded into a bundle around a bunch of clothes too small to fit any human past their teens. Including the ripped shirt that had served as bandages for Jesse’s head wound. 

 

That was the first thing Ana had looked over. 

 

"I'm good with potions and poultices, but if you truly were unconscious, we should have the First-Enchanter look at you first thing when she wings by."

 

Jesse had rolled his eyes. He did so again when Angela glowed, golden, above him. 

 

"Well... There is something. Looks like a concussion that was healed almost all the way with magic about a month ago."

 

The dragonling near Jesse had shifted on its haunches, as if he had wanted to retort.

 

"A mage managed to get me out of the sylvans' way." Jesse explained. "He's the one who did it. Pretty much exhausted himself doing it."

 

"That explains it..." Angela simply said.

 

She had learned over time that very few people wanted to hear about magical theory, even Ana. If only that Tevinter girl with her could learn to the same. 

 

Mei was right now cooing over Dragonling, who was more than interested in sitting next to the two women, one in white and red robes, the other in the navy blue outfit Tevinter mages seemed to like (except, more modest and less flashy than Jesse had the habit to see. It fit Mei’s deliciously round figure perfectly). 

 

Dragonling… They had all laughed at the name, especially Mei who had proposed to change it. Dragonling however, playfully swatted her hands away with his snout if she ever called him something else (Especially Nuvulis, for some reason…) 

 

Jesse kept calling him Dragonling, earning a lot of favour with the shapeshifter and some scary pouts from the Tevinter woman.

 

Truth was, the elf had never told him his name and he sure as hell couldn’t tell when he had a snout and claws and could breathe fireballs with his mouth. Well, he probably could breathe fireballs with his mouth when in his regular form, but Jesse wasn’t about to ask really. 

 

If Dragonling wanted to stay in this form with them, he was welcome to it, Jesse thought, and fuck Jack’s paranoia. Darkspawn weren’t afraid of dragonlings much, but having one fight beside them felt good to the regular folk. 

 

Whenever Angela was alone working on the restocking of their most perishable potions, Dragonling would be found with her, observing. Learning, Jesse reckoned. 

 

Feeling a tinge of jealousy to not be the only other two legged person to have Dragonling attentions, Jesse referred to retreat and take care of his weapons, visit Torbjörn, inquiring about the progress on the new ballistae he was designing. 

 

Trying not to think of actually begging a man he barely knew for a small chance.  

 

*

**

*

 

The woman who smelled of Genji was called Angela. 

 

She spoke of him as if she knew him. As if he was the most precious thing in the world. Her eyes lit up when speaking of Genji and she spoke of  _ the wealth of knowledge the Dalish had. _

 

If the Dalish had a wealth of knowledge, they wouldn’t be nomad tribes clinging to the precious few lore they had left, Hanzo had first thought, until he realised she was speaking of Magical theories again. 

 

Hanzo was jealous. According to the snippets of his brother’s life in the circle she let go -  _ The Circle… _ He had thought he had killed him only to learn he had driven him to a Circle of Magi! He wished he had not been more thorough for a second…- he seemed happy enough. Or, Angela resented Genji for not being happy enough… Speech was starting to become hard to follow, now that it had been a few… Weeks? 

 

At some point, Hanzo realised he had started to navigate the world by scent alone: following the scent of Genji on Angela, the scent of Jesse on the  _ sarape  _ and the stench of Darkspawn in battle. 

 

He wasn’t quite feral yet. He had time. 

 

Or had he?

 

The fight was brutal. This time, only genlock were seen. According to the Wardens it was a good sign that the remaining of the horde that was brought by the nearby Fereldan Blight had finally been culled and no more risk of large incursions was to fear. 

 

Still, Hanzo wondered why his mouth was wet when Ana checked him for any injury. He was always very careful to keep it closed. Had he let go too much? Should he change? 

 

“He swallowed Darkspawn Blood.” Ana said upon examining him.

 

“Oh, I keep Blossoms of the Wilds, but I’m not sure if it’ll properly work on a dragonling.” Angela exclaimed, gesturing them to follow them to the little corner of the outpost where she stored every healing supplies and worked to refill the Wardens stocks. 

 

“It works for Mabari, I don’t see why it would be different for other animals, dragons are Fade touched beasts too.” Ana argued. 

 

Angela’s scowl at the profane and inexact term didn’t touch her tone of voice. 

 

“Well, we can’t go wrong with this flower. And if he won’t eat it, we’ll hide it in his meat.” she simply answered. 

 

Ana scratched Hanzo behind his… His what?  _ Dragons didn’t have ears _ …

 

The flower had a bitter taste, but some voice at the back of his head convinced him to keep chewing.  _ Taint. Bad. Danger. _

 

Reyes ordered McCree to keep the beast away from the fight in the next few days. Fortunately, no further incursion was reported. In fact, Hanzo heard Jack and Reyes talk of orders from Weiss… Wass… The thing… Above. 

 

Words were becoming hard. Maybe he should change back?

 

Hanzo went to McCree’s scent to have the  _ sarape _ fastened again properly around him and fell asleep at the bottom of Angela’s bed, where Genji’s scent was the strongest. 

 

*

**

*

 

When the wardens and their allies heard Angela’s scream, they expected an attack, demon, darkspawn, anything, not a panicked Spirit Healer bursting out of her room and carrying a convulsing grey skinned Dalish man with strength they didn’t know she had. 

 

Angela lived to save people, though. 

 

“Ana! To the Joining Room! Now! Jesse! Help me carry Dragonling!”

 

“Wardens secrets…” Jack started. 

 

“Can kiss my ass! Go get the Joining Potion, right now, Ser Jack !” the healer interrupted, her expression sombre and authoritative. 

 

“Yes, First Enchanter.” Jack automatically saluted and departed, with his typical templar march. 

 

Joining Room. Only then did Jesse truly wake up. The Dalish. He took the elven form in his arms. Had he always been so small? So hot to the touch? The deep blue of his face markings  looked like lightning bolts against a night sky. How far along was he? Why hadn’t he told Angela this was a person they were treating for Blight sickness, not an animal?  

 

“Why didn’t you tell us he wasn’t a true dragonling?” Angela scolded him, echoing Jesse’s thoughts and sounding the angriest since she had patched up another Dalish years ago. 

 

“Not my secret to tell and not even sure. Didn’t wanna spook ‘im… You know elves and human in general, to him I could’ve been… Whatever they say eats misbehavin children instead of the Dalish for us, right...” Jesse nervously answered, balancing the heavy elf. (He was so heavy, he had turned limp. Was he dead?) 

 

“Also, ever seen such a peaceful dragonling in a  _ sarape _ ? Figured you’d have guessed, what with him all over you when you’re speaking about boring Fade stuff…”

 

“Shut up, kid.” Ana said, as the healer and the scoundrel entered the room she was in, carrying the sick elf between them. 

 

The beginning of every bad tavern joke. Jesse sent his yearly prayer to the Holy Bride. More for his own sanity than for the life of his friend. He firmly believed the maker had turned their back on them all for good.

 

Ana had been lighting the candles with Mei who was holding a scroll in front of her face. Jesse wasn’t surprised she was here, in the barren room in the dungeon of the outpost. 

 

“You gonna force him to Join, right.” Jesse swallowed nervously. 

 

“Yes.” Reyes’ voice rang behind him. “At this point, it’s the only thing that’ll maybe allow him to live.”

 

Jesse had seen ghouls. Upon looking at Dragonling - The Dalish, he corrected himself- how his veins in his arm neck were black… It hadn’t gone all the way to his heart. Good.

 

However, he was naked. The  _ sarape  _ had been discarded somewhere along the way. Jesse, as he laid the elf on the floor, removed his shirt and carefully deposited it on the Dalish’s lap, hiding the most important. There were ladies in the room, after all, he thought, idly. In fact it hurt him to see the man who had saved his life so vulnerable. 

 

Mei was praying to the Maker. Ana was cursing as she reviewed the necessities of the potion, asking the Tevinter mage for a word or a reference. Reyes was muttering about Jack. 

 

“We’re darn lucky we kept that Darkspawn blood that dragon, elf, whatever, killed. Almost counts as a proper one.” the templar said when he entered, holding a two jars and a silver cup. “What’s he doing in the Joining Room?” the Templar asked, looking at Jesse while the witches were taking care of finally mixing the brew. 

 

Jesse’s blood had turned cold in his veins. 

 

“He saved my life.” he whispered. 

 

“Don’t you dare,  _ cazzo _ .” Reyes started.

 

“HE SAVED MY LIFE, FOR ANDRASTE’S SAKE!” Jesse yelled. “It’s my fault if he’s here lying against a wall and not on two feet like a man! He followed  _ me. _ ”

 

Looking at Reyes in the eyes, Jesse gritted his teeth. 

 

“Since I was fucking seventeen, I’ve been your errand boy. I know all your secrets, I know I can die. So can he. He followed  _ me _ . I’m just following back.” he snarled, trying to even his voice out. 

 

Reyes’ stare was unreadable. Jack had an eyebrow raised. Mei was still praying, Angela was running a cool cloth over the shivering form of the Dalish elf. His convulsions had stopped. Good. Maybe that flower thing had actually worked enough to give him room to breathe. 

 

_ Dead men couldn’t swallow. _

 

Jesse chuckled at the innuendo, despite himself. He was too scared, too tense, his back taut as a bowstring. 

 

Finally after an agonising minute, Ana brought a cup to Reyes and the Warden-Commander nodded to his lieutenant. She prepared more, poured in the same cup. 

 

“Thank you Enchanter Ziegler. Serrah Zhou.” Jack said to the other women.

 

The two mages not slated for Wardenhood hurried out of the room. It was one thing to know Warden secrets. It was another to see a Joining and get out of it alive and not a Warden. 

 

“Join us, brothers and sisters.” Jack started droning, dropping on one knee, as if he was still in his old order. “Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you.”

 

Ana gently massaged the elf’s throat to let the concoction she had just poured in his mouth pass without choking him. He didn’t move. 

 

When she was finished, the three Wardens turned to Jesse. Reyes thrust the cup into his hands. His lips on the brim on the cold silver cup (actual silver, his former cutpurse instincts told him) he tried not to let his tongue touch it. Fat chance. It hit the back of his mouth and the metallic tang of blood and the rot of the taint almost choked him. He almost threw up, then and there, but knew that no matter how they liked him, he’d just be shanked and he’d never see an elf or a dragonling again if he didn’t drink it all. 

 

Or would he? He could die, right. Jesse could die. Dragonling could die. 

 

When the vision came, he barely felt himself fall to the floor. 

 

*

**

*

 

Darkspawn. Darkspawn everywhere.

 

The Archdemon, here, overseeing it all. No orders from Weisshaupt. Stay put. Keep the prison. Don’t approach much. Keep a non-warden near in case the call becomes stronger. Keep cool Gabi. 

 

Ana, had first checked the elf’s pulse, professionally. Then Jesse’s. The woman had then burst into tears, making Gabriel’s heart leap. Had he killed the kid? No. 

 

His non-warden was now part of the good old Taint Brigade. 

 

For a second, Gabriel had been scared of truly losing Jesse. However, that son of a bitch was just too damn stubborn. His elf friend, too. It was rare. Joinings always meant death, one way or the other. 

 

Gabriel had never really given a fuck about Andraste or the Creators, but this sounded a lot like a sign. At least, that’s how Jack had called it and these days, he envied the Templar’s naive Chantry upbringing. 

 

“Templars take confessions?” he asked Jack in the dead of night. 

 

The greying grizzled warrior of the Chantry raised an eyebrow, a pale ray of moonlight from the tiny windows was lighting him up like glassworks of the Antiva City Cathedral. 

 

"I'm not a Templar anymore..."

 

"The only way you'll stop being a Templar is when you're dead, Jack." Gabriel snorted. 

 

"Have I been oppressing mages lately? You should definitely put me back into place, Warden-Commander." Jack grunted in a chuckle. 

 

Gabriel felt warmth come back into his body. Jack was the best to be with after Taint induced nightmares. 

 

"Hey..." Jack said, his hand warm on Gabriel's shoulder. "Jesse's gonna be alright."

 

"What about us, Jack?" the Antivan snarled. "You know I don't follow orders much, would rather do whatever's needed... Void, that's exactly why we were handpicked for this mission... We need non-wardens on base, not more of us!"

 

"Ask Mei if she's willing to stay. She is not under Circle jurisdiction, she knows Warden Secrets, since she's the only one who can even read our own damn papers..."

 

"I'd rather have Angela..."

 

"No way the Knight-Commander's gonna allow a Spirit Healer to stay more than a month away..."

 

"We have a Templar."

 

"I'm as good as a deserter to them."

 

"Then they must send one to us." Gabriel said. 

  
The chilly air made Gabriel regret not having taken the time to put on some clothes, but it came naturally with Jack around. Forever a prude, he is the one who covers the hunched Antivan with a blanket as he angrily scratched a letter to Knight-Commander Lacroix with a goose feather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't promise an end, sorry, but there are stuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me.
> 
> Also almost all my work on this fic has been done on my phone during my commute and some typos must have escaped me...

When Hanzo opened his eyes, he was relieved to not be in the dark, pressed on each and every sides by creatures of rotten flesh and makeshift armours.

 

He had dreamt of Darkspawn. It was to be expected when he spent so many time with Wardens, fighting them.

 

The room he was in had a pleasant smell. The smell of the Healer. The smell of any place filled with healing supplies ranging from field poultices to potions. Taking a deep breath, he waited until he could smell the old familiar spiky scent of an elf he thought was dead.

 

Except he couldn’t.

 

Hanzo rose with a start. Immediately, his head swam, as if he had drunk the day before. The sound of a door opening and closing - faded, as if he had suddenly become deaf… Had he become deaf? - made him turn around.

 

Here she was, the Healer. She looked smaller, less bright than before, as if…

 

Hanzo brought up his hands to a level with his eyes. Ten slender fingers attached to a veined and bony palm greeted him. He didn’t remember his hands looking like this. Feeling weak, he slowly looked at the Healer, Angela.

 

She looked at him with an apprehension Hanzo had trouble processing. It didn’t look like fear for herself. Her eyes fell on the bed behind him and the elf, now feeling the weariness in his bones and understanding his situation better, decided to sit back on it.

 

Taking a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he was surprised and concerned by how winded he felt. He rubbed his palms onto his eyes - proper elven eyes - then felt the familiar bumps of the blood marking. Then his hair, greasy, matted… It seemed it hadn’t grown in his _hanryuu_ form, though. The buzz of the shaved sides had not expanded in the time (weeks? months?) he had spent in this form, the longest time since he had discovered this particular talent of his, nurtured it…

 

Decided to forget it entirely it the day he saw his brother’s leathers stained with the blood his own kin had shed.  

 

Hanzo was glad to see his skill in quashing the worst memories of his life before they could overwhelm him was still very much alive.

 

The Enchanter seeing Hanzo sit down, seemed to relax, or rather, a sense of competency washed over her, letting her carry on with her business. She had brought a tray which she deposited on the bed next to Hanzo. It held a bowl of sweet smelling hot water, probably a concoction made of honey and fortifying tea.

 

“How…” Hanzo started before he was wracked with a cough, as if he had swallowed the fragrant concoction the wrong way.

 

“Now, slowly now…” the woman said.

 

Her voice was like muffled behind a gauze. However, her touch was almost searing when she helped him carefully settle on the bed. Still in a sitting position, Hanzo took the time to look at his legs. It was taking him quite the time for him to reconcile the idea that he was an elf and not a dragonling. Well, he just had to focus on his surroundings, try to talk again. Maybe after a spoonful of tea.

 

The healer had thankfully brought a spoon and not just the cloth she seemed to have used to feed him earlier, allowing for a less humiliating feeding for the now awake man. He kept calm, waiting patiently for the woman to speak up.

 

“I’ve heard rumours… I wasn’t certain… Still, I had to try. I regret nothing, but I am sorry.” she only said, her gaze avoiding his.

 

Hanzo tried to guess by himself what she was talking about, what she could have done to look so sad and so determined.

 

“What happened.” he managed to croak now that his throat was wet and more pliant.

 

Angela told him.

 

Hanzo did not expect the blow to the gut, the feeling of his stomach plummeting in the emptiness.

 

Still, he soon was thinking about it more rationally.

 

_This is more than I deserve._

 

“Thank you.” he told the woman, sincere.

 

Her small smile was encouraging.

 

*

**

*

 

Jesse was pacing back and forth in front of the door, not daring enter the room. It would be stupid anyway.

In this form, Dragonling and him had only met once and never even exchanged names. And Jesse couldn’t possibly call an elf _Dragonling._

 

When Jesse had woken up from nightmares that had threatened to have him dry heave for hours, bile rising to the back of his throat, the Dalish mage that had healed him all those months ago had been sleeping. For a second, Jesse feared the worst. However, he couldn’t believe Gabriel would have let a corpse sit in a bed. In fact, the Antivan had revealed last year when their only Dalish Warden died in a raid, that he knew much about their funeral rites.

 

It had been strange to bury someone in the ground. Jesse still visited Tamriel’s grave. A bush of strong smelling plants had grown there and they made fennec stew real tastier.

 

The door opened behind him, interrupting his reverie. Enchanter Angela was out of the room with the bowl properly emptied. Except this time, she had a smile on her face.

 

“Is he awake?” Jesse couldn’t help but ask.

 

“He is resting and I will not have you bother him before he has time to regain his bearings.” the mage berated him, taking his arm and forcibly removing him from his self imposed watch.

 

Because who was he kidding, he was looking forward to meet his elf friend again. Maybe learn his real name.

 

Well, maybe he was shy. Elves, Dalish elves, had good reasons to be. In fact, maybe he wouldn’t want to see Jesse at all. After all, it was his fault he was now slated to die in just a few decades. Dalish like he, lived in clans like folks lived in families and they had nothing else.

 

_What had he allowed to happen to the man who saved his life?_

 

Jesse took a deep breath.

 

“What now?” He asked.

 

Forward. Forward was the way.

 

“We inform the Commander that the new Warden is awake and will be combat ready in a day, maybe less.” Angela answered, her steps brisk and all business.

 

“A day?” Jesse exclaimed. “That can’t be right… He almost died, there...”

 

“Are you hungry, Jesse?” Angela piped up, not stopping her long strides.

 

“Hungry?” the Rivaini man snorted. “I’m starving, more like.”

 

“Then just follow-me to the mess hall and you’ll understand.”

 

The mess hall was not exactly a hall. It barely fit the whole company of Wardens and allies at most. Still, with a lot of wardens being former military, the room where they prepared and consumed their meals was still called the mess hall, despite being more of a very large kitchen. As soon as the waft of Jack’s Fereldan gruel reached Jesse’s nose, the man started to really feel the hunger become unbearable. It startled him. Fereldan gruel cooked until everything is grey and flavorless, overcooked further by the former Templar who thought adding salt in it was spicy enough, shouldn't ever turn any folk’s appetite on.

 

But Jesse accepted a bowl of grey barley porridge all the same and though the taste was still as stupidly bland as usual, he couldn't help but finish every single spoon of goo because he was famished.

 

“Jesse, won't you complain about Jack’s cooking skills?” Gabi asked, a snide smirk on his face as he too was making grey sludge disappear.

 

“No time” the new Warden grunted through the tasteless Fereldan mud.

 

He spent at least a few hours eating, at each new serving, he was afraid of being stuffed full and passing out, but even a mug of ale would not quench his famished stomach. Even as a street urchin, he had never felt as if his belly had been forever been stretching that way.

 

The first days are always the worst, he heard Reinhardt joke with Torbjörn.

 

Stopping his mad spooning for a second, Jesse wondered if Dragonling felt the same right now.

 

As if summoned, an elf, with wobbly knees but a straight backed entered the room. Jesse anxiously swallowed the current mouthful of bland what passed for cooking in Ferelden. This was it, he was going to know.

 

Unable to eat more, suddenly, Jesse, livid, watched carefully as the elf who had rescued him walked toward the table. Angela, instead of Fereldan porridge, served him something looking more like a broth along with whispered words, prompting a nod from the Dalish man. Carefully, he brought the bowl to his lips and drank it under careful eyes. After his third bowl and more whispers with Angela, she served him the Templar’s mortar.

 

“I wish I was given some broth. There's more flavour in that than anything Jack makes.” Jesse couldn't help saying, after all doctor and patient were just in front of him.

“I have knowledge of Fereldan staples when it comes to food, this one isn't as bad as what I've had before.” The Dalish man said, his voice more hoarse than what Jesse remembered.

 

But it was him, for sure. Alive, well, eating just like Jesse had been a minute ago. He wondered if he had the nightmares as well…

 

He briefly looked at the now leaving wardens and wondered if everyone had them. After all, all of them consumed Darkspawn blood right. That's what the vows said anyway?

 

“I wanted to thank you.” The elf suddenly said, snapping Jesse out of his reverie.

 

“What for?”

 

“You… welcomed me as Dragonling… I wanted to be sure you knew I appreciate you accepting me in this form.”

 

“Well, it ain't nothing, really. You save my life, I'm the one indebted to you…”

 

“It doesn't mean that a kindness must not be repaid with politeness. My kind are not savages.”

 

“Never took you for one.”

 

The elf’s eyes shone with a light that made Jesse feel funny, as if his insides were liquid. Nerves threatened to stretch his lips in a smile that felt entirely too stupid to give away and same, his fingers were itching not to twirl around his daggers hilts, but that stray lock of hair that made Reyes tsk in a particularly annoying manner.

 

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, the elf carefully put his spoon down onto the wooden table and extended his arm.

 

“Hanzo.”

 

Jesse took it, glad to have something to do with his hand. The shake was firm and welcoming.

 

“Jesse.”

 

*

**

*

 

“They allowed Angela to stay, but on one condition. Knight Lieutenant Zaryanova is to be her chaperone. She's en route.”

 

“We need more non wardens on base, she will be welcome. Jack?”

 

“I'll handle her.”

 

“Ana?”

 

“Welcome party ready to ride ahead and escort them. Should I take Reinhardt so I don't spook anyone?”

 

“Yes.” Jack answered. “Chevaliers are reassuring to some and your presence will help her acclimate herself to free mages. If she's too brainwa....”

 

Jack stopped suddenly. Gabriel couldn't help but shudder. Ana gasped.

 

“What is it?” Jack whispered, his blue eyes growing wide with fear.

 

Ana sat down on the nearest chair, Gabriel got up, slowly and retrieved a bottle of rum from his hidden drawer.

 

“I can't believe it.” Ana blurted out in a strangled cry. “No, I refuse it, this is too soon, way too soon!”

 

Gabriel poured three glasses. Quietly putting them into his companion's hands, he remembered how soft Jack’s were when their fingers brushed and felt a pang of sadness and anger.

 

“We are running out of time. Gotta make the most of it.” The Antivan said before downing his drink in one go.


End file.
